


The Dalek Wears Prada

by jer832



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bad Wolf, Double Entendre, Dramedy, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Foreshadowing, Nightmares, Romance, Seduction, fluffy seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:26:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jer832/pseuds/jer832
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You died," she whispered.  "It terrified you an' it was gonna kill you, an' you gave up." </p>
<p>The Doctor chuckled. "Well, I'll give you that—a singing and dancing Dalek in pink flocking is the scariest thing I've ever heard of… even worse than your mum in her pink running suit."</p>
<p>"I know. It said it survived the Time War by hiding in the Prada store 'cause you wouldn't look for it there."</p>
<p>"It's got a point."</p>
<p>~~~<br/><i>After the events of "Dalek",  when Rose wakes up screaming, the Doctor pulls the disoriented woman into his lap to comfort her. That may not have been a good idea... or it may be the best idea ever. And whose idea is it?</i><br/>~~~</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dalek Wears Prada

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Christmas 2012 ficathon at bad_wolf_rising comm on livejournal, to this marvelous prompt by scifiangel (scifiangel.livejournal.com). My dear friend illustrated, beta'd, and generally made this a better story  
> 
> 
>  

 

 

 

The Dalek Wears Prada

 

 

Rose's screams jolted the Doctor out of a rare dreamless slumber. He shot out of bed and charged into her room next door. Rose was crouched on her bed in a wild-eyed panic, shouting obscenities at the floor lamp. He rushed to her, and she threw her arms around him.

 

"I won't let you have him!" Rose screamed at the lamp. "He's mine! He's mine!"

 

He held Rose, shaking and weeping – and still more asleep than awake. She clung to him like he was her oxygen in a nitrogen-poisoned world. "Don't leave me again," she sobbed, "Doctor, don't let me go!"

 

She seemed young and broken, and the thought of her like that was a knife through the Doctor's hearts. He tightened his arms around her. "I'm not leaving you, Rose; I'm not gonna let you go; I promise." Unable to calm her, he just pulled her into his lap and held her for a bit, whispering tender nonsense and dropping butterfly kisses into her hair.

 

"I lost you," Rose whispered tremulously.

 

"Rose I'm here. See, I'm holding you—you can feel me holding you." The Doctor rubbed and massaged Rose's back through her sweat-drenched silk pyjama top, rubbed her chilled arms until he felt warmth returning. "I'm here." His gentle fingers slipped through Rose's hair, stroked her head, her neck and back. "You had a nightmare, it was just a nightmare."

 

Rose shook her head and burrowed into the nook of his shoulder and chest. "You died," she whispered, the words too awful to reward with full voice. "It terrified you, an' it was gonna kill you, an' you gave up."

 

"Rose, oh Rose… Nine hundred years old, me, and nothing has ever terrified me into giving up." He slipped two fingers under her jaw and gently angled her face up, then he waited for Rose to see the tender reassurance in his eyes. "Nothing ever will terrify me enough to lose you, Rose Tyler, not even your mum in her pink running suit."

 

"I couldn't save you," she choked. "I wasn't good enough! I wasn't the best after all! I knew it was gonna kill you an' I couldn't save you."

 

"What killed me, Rose?"

 

"The pink-flocked Dalek."

 

"Pink flocked _Dalek_?"

 

"Yes, the pink flocked Dalek. It killed you, an' then it danced and it sang _Some Enchanted Evening_."

 

The Doctor chuckled. "Well, I'll give you that—a singing and dancing Dalek in pink flocking is the scariest thing I've ever heard of… even worse than your mum in her pink running suit."

 

Rose nodded her head gravely. "I know," she whispered. "It said it survived the Time War by hiding in the Prada store, 'cause you wouldn't look for it there."

 

"It's got a point."

 

Rose slapped the Doctor's arm. It wasn't much of a slap, he hardly even felt it; but he could see alertness grow in Rose's eyes and the beginning of a self-conscious smile.

 

Once Rose's somnolent confusion of dream and reality disappeared, the Doctor realized two things; first, that Rose's body had moulded itself against his; and second, that her little silk top, damp with cooling sweat, was sticking uncomfortably to his chest. That led to realization number three. In his panicked rush to get to Rose, he hadn't stopped to slip on any other clothing, like his pyjama top. A small part of his brain heaved a sigh that he'd not been sleeping naked—he'd have a lot of explaining to do if Rose could see the effect that holding her was having on him. Then he reminded himself that his pyjama bottom wasn't made of chain mail so it still could be awkward. Particularly if Rose had noticed — and this brought him to realization number four, or maybe five — that he had been sort of kissing her. He had to let Rose go; but hadn't he just promised her he wouldn't? So he didn't. He… couldn't, though he moved his face a safe distance from her hair. "Tell me what else it said."

 

"It said it was there for my birthday, but I wasn't invited to the party because you don't do domestic an' the Harvest Ball always makes you act a little too gay."

 

"It does not!"

 

"I think it meant something else, Doctor."

 

"I stand by my reply, Rose Tyler," he groused, but his eyes sparkled at her.

 

Rose shifted in the Doctor's arms and smiled up at him tremulously. "A pink flocked dancing Dalek is a little crazy, isn't it?"

 

"It's perfectly understandable, Rose. That Dalek in Van Statten's bunker made me a little crazy too. Pink, eh?"

 

"It was wearing tinsel, an' carrying a Prada purse with a matching glove, anti-gravity high-heeled pumps, an' sprinkling can."

 

"Sprinkling can?"

 

"The tinsel isn't fire-retardant."

 

"Ah." He grinned at her. "What else?"

 

"It was fixated on you, Doctor."

 

"Yeah, the Daleks tended to do that."

 

"Not just Daleks," Rose must have been still shaken by her nightmare because she let the words escape. The Doctor tried to ignore it. He really tried. "The Dalek said you got strike-anywhere matches, but your explosives are just for show."

 

"For show?" He cocked an eyebrow.

 

Rose shrugged. "I tried to remind it that you blew up my job, an' the mortuary, an' Number 10, an' a whole bunch of other things."

 

"What did it say to that?"

 

" _'Reality is frequently inaccurate'_. An' then it said that Earth death was already the _Dish of the Day_." Rose pulled back to study the Doctor's face and giggled.

 

The Doctor cocked an eyebrow. "Why am I not more surprised at the notion of a Dalek quoting from the _HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE_?"

 

Rose wrapped her arms around the Doctor's neck and snuggled against him. As he held her, his fingers stroked softly over her skin between where her little chemise stopped and the barely there shorts began, and his hearts didn't quite beat faster than they had a right to.

 

"The Dalek an' I were in the restaurant watching the universe contract. I had a chocolate birthday cake, an' the Dalek tried to take it all. I got angry an' said _'Fine, you asked for it—you got it'_ , an' then I threw a can full of gold sprinkles at it. It exploded, just like the one in Van Statten's bunker."

 

"Good for you, Rose Tyler! Extermination by sugar overdose."

 

"It looked more like a big _poof_ of fairy dust than sugar."

 

" _'All you need is trust and a little bit of pixie dust'_ ," the Doctor quoted Sir James. "Or in your case, Rose Tyler, a can full of the stuff." He clapped his hands. "I do believe, Tinkerbelle, I do."

 

"An' then you were with me again, Doctor—not all of you, maybe on account of the Dalek having killed you, but your smile was there."

 

"Like the Cheshire cat?" he asked, starting to draw tiny circles and infinity signs on Rose's back, scratching at the bottom hem of her chemise and the waistband of her shorts.

 

"Yeah. An' your eyes too."

 

"What about my ears?"

 

Rose slapped his shoulder. "The rest of you caught up eventually. The cake was on a blue plate in my lap. Your eyes smiled like they were hungry, an' you asked if you could have a taste."

 

“Makes sense.” The Doctor grinned. "That's probably one of my favourite things to eat." It was possible he'd just changed the subject, at least for him. His grin felt more like a leer and his voice had come from somewhere much lower than his throat, somewhere dark… but not the darkness the Doctor was used to. He wondered how he must have sounded to Rose. He cleared his throat and tried to clear his mind of the feel of Rose's body against his naked skin. But then Rose's head shifted, and the warm currents of her soft exhalations teased his nipple.

 

"Did I get any?" he asked huskily, giving up all pretence that this hadn’t just become something else for him. His fingers began to wander, gliding under Rose's silk top, dipping just inside her sleep shorts. He couldn't have stopped them even if he'd wanted. But he had the presence of mind, at least, to keep his legs crossed and Rose 's bum balanced up on one of his thighs.

 

His cool fingertips skimmed up Rose's spine, tickling her sweat-damp skin. She shivered then glanced up and gasped. He blinked his eyes closed, certain that like Superman he could burn away clothes with a look.

 

"You didn't give me any, did you?" he accused, continuing at least one of his conversations with Rose. "I am hurt and offended," he added, failing miserably at sounding either. Apparently he'd lost control over his mouth, his eyes, _and_ his hands, but he didn't feel guilty.

 

"What do you think?" Rose replied blandly against the Doctor's chest, just perfectly positioned to make every hair in the little patch on his chest stand straight up and the nerve endings beneath his skin begin to fire erratically, all the way to his nipples.

 

"So I got nothing from you, Rose Tyler, for all my trouble, an' facing a pink-flocked Dalek an' all?"

 

"Didn't say that, Doctor. You squatted down in front of me, like you were supplicating—"

 

"Hah!" he scoffed. Rose shushed him, breathing fire across his breast mercilessly; but by then he wanted no mercy.

 

"Then you took hold of my hand like it belonged to you, an' you skimmed my finger all through th' frosting until it was fully covered in th' stuff, all the way down to where you were holdin' my hand. You made a right mess."

 

"Yeah?" he smirked.

 

"Then you put my messy finger up to your mouth an' slowly rolled your tongue around the tip. An' then—" Rose paused to breathe in slowly, and again to breathe out even slower. "—an' then you sucked my finger into your mouth—all the way, an' closed your lips around it tight, and you sucked on me slow and thorough."

 

"Yeah?" he choked.

 

"Yeah. You even swizzled the tip of your tongue down into the places where your fingers were holdin' onto mine. You made little happy noises, an' you sucked every bit of the frosting off."

 

"Did I like the taste of it?"

 

"Oh," Rose breathed, "very much."

 

"Did you?" He asked cryptically.

 

Rose didn't answer his question, or maybe she did. "I'd've done it myself, I think, in a situation like that, Doctor, slidin' yours in an' suckin' an' lickin' you clean. I'd like to eat yours all up, Doctor, jus' like that."

 

The Doctor felt Rose's smile against his skin; there might be a permanent mark at that. "Greedy Rose Tyler."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Wolf it down?"

 

"Maybe. Maybe I'd take my time an' get it all, feel it smooth an' slippery on my tongue, feel the flavour explode in my mouth."

 

"Ah, Rose."

 

"Then you told me it wasn't only my birthday party, as well as almost Christmas; you said it was your birthday too." Rose's voice was gravelly and hot against the Doctor's chest. "You said you wanted t'dance with me."

 

"Did I, now?"

 

The Doctor kissed the top of Rose's head chastely, again, although Rassilon alone knew why. With the most fantastic lack of propriety, he'd been pressing Rose's boneless, clinging, and delightfully underdressed body against his own, just shy of naked, body; they'd been stroking each other's innuendos with a will, not to mention each other's skin; every time Rose moved or spoke, or just breathed, she sent high voltage currents straight into his groin, and he'd been doing his damnedest to return her searing ecstasy with some of his own. Had he started this, or had Rose? It didn't matter anymore; it was where they ended up. Finally. The Doctor was relieved. And he was also more turned on than he'd ever been in his lives.

 

"Doctor, I asked you to prove it was your birthday. You said you already did; you'd come back to me wearin' your birthday suit."

 

He kissed the top of Rose's head again, not very chastely. "Was I?"

 

Slipping astride him, Rose stretched like a cat, rubbing against his naked torso and pushing into his lap. As she rocked over his erection, he couldn't completely suppress a moan. Rose looked up at him, her eyes bright, her lips just a little bit parted. She tilted her head back. His lips drifted open just a bit too, and he found his head tilting down until their faces were so close that he could feel Rose's breath on his lips. They sat like that for a bit, or an eternity, looking at each other, eyes sparkling darkly, their breaths in sync, warm and boldly promising against each other's lips. Rose's hands lay against his chest and her thumbnails scratched lightly across his nipples. His hands were around her hips, sliding her slowly back and forth along his length.

 

Rose overbalanced them and rolled them onto the bed, covering the Doctor's long body with hers as best as she could. Her cheek rested over one of his hearts. A palm covered his other heart, and he could feel her hand quivering with his heartbeats. Her other hand was in his hand, where it belonged. Their fingers intertwined and his thumb made careless teasing circles on the back of Rose's hand. Her legs hugged his like his shadow, and their hipbones and groins moved into place like the last pieces of a puzzle. Rose's body was an insubstantial weight on him, yet his nerve endings couldn't stop firing, his nostrils were filled with the fragrance of her shampoo mixed with her sweat and something else, and his brain refused to process any sensory information that didn't start with her name. Then Rose did something… moved her thighs, wiggled her pelvis… something… bringing them just out of alignment... and then back. As she rocked and pressed against him, the heat of her groin fed the heat of his. The friction made him high, made him want to shout.

 

"Rose. "

 

"Doctor."

 

He should stop this, now, he told himself. Shouldn't he? Why? He couldn't remember. Maybe Rose would remember.

 

" _Please_ , Rose?"

 

Rose pulled up to look him in the eyes. He'd lived hundreds of years and knew more than probably everyone else in the galaxies; still he wondered if women invented friction to melt men's cognitive lobes and drive them crazy with need.

 

" _Rose_ —"

 

He was afraid to say it again, but it was all he wanted to do… just say her name over and over that way and trust his clever, fantastic Rose to figure out what he was saying.

 

And then Rose was over him, her fingers caressing his face, looking down into his eyes, and he couldn't look away. It was obvious to him that nothing could stop where this was going, and Rose's eyes were telling him that as far as she was concerned, it had been predestined. Maybe she was right, and Time had been waiting for them to figure it out.

 

The Doctor looked at Rose like she meant everything. "Rose. Please." She must have seen that he'd finally figured out what he had been saying, because her smile was suddenly different—It was the smile of a huntress ready to wolf down every morsel of her prey, and the Doctor had never in his lives ever felt so thrilled and overjoyed to be hunted.

 

His reality focused down into a cosmos of touch… the smooth-against-smooth slide of silk over cotton; the sweep and press and glide of Rose's lips over his, along his breastbones and down his chest; her fingertips tickling the minuscule hairs on his stomach… her body dropping with almost frictionless ease between his legs, shrugged apart with a duvet displaced somewhere… the smooth-against-smooth slide of cotton over skin, of silk over skin; the silky glide of skin over skin… the mix of cool air, slick skin, and hot blood.

 

"Rose— _please!_ "

 

 

**~~~**

 

Unable to keep his body motionless in bed when Rose's was pressed up next to him, but unwilling to wake her, the Doctor had abandoned all pretence of sleep and spent the last hour tinkering around in the control room. He was closing up some compartments at the base of the control panel and beneath the grating when Rose entered. She smiled easily, her nightmare forgotten or at least pushed back into the unlit corner of her brain that wasn't controlling her cat-that-ate-the-cream smile. **  
**

Unable to keep his body motionless in bed when Rose's was pressed up next to him, but unwilling to wake her, the Doctor had abandoned all pretence of sleep and spent the last hour tinkering around in the control room. He was closing up some compartments at the base of the control panel and beneath the grating when Rose entered. She smiled easily, her nightmare forgotten or at least pushed back into the unlit corner of her brain that wasn't controlling her cat-that-ate-the-cream smile.

 

"While you've been getting your beauty sleep, which you don't ever need, by the way," he grinned, "I made you a present."

 

Rose knelt next to the Doctor and followed his grin to a big button with red and green alternating stripes and a picture of the Grinch in the middle. "It's your _home for Christmas_ button, Rose Tyler. Whenever you want to go visit your mum--not just at Christmas-- instead of you feeding me some excuse you think maybe I'd buy, just tell me to open this compartment and push this button." The Doctor grinned again. "I was gonna put a picture of your mum on there but…" He shuddered. "It's hard enough enduring Christmas shopping with you and dinner with your mum; I couldn't deal with a photo of the ghost of Slappers Past. Might just lose control and punch the button rather than push it, an' that'd put the TARDIS in a snit."

 

"You're really gonna take me?"

 

The Doctor looked at Rose sharply and, yep, that tongue was teasing out one side. "Figured you'd like to go visit her for Christmas."

 

"Which one?"

 

Rose grinned her tongue-tipped grin even wider. He loved her so he could hardly breathe. "Which one do you want?" he asked very seriously.

 

"How about the one coming up?"

 

He nodded and programmed it. "You can also use it when I'm being a berk, but the compartments are usually locked so our landings don't send anything important flying—"

 

"'Cept for us."

 

"—and the button is programmed so that if you use it too often for that, it'll melt."

 

"Berk."

 

"Yeah. You pushing that button now?"

 

"Maybe later. How will the button know the difference?"

 

"The button won't, but the TARDIS will. She'll head for Earth when she thinks we should."

 

"What's that down in there?" Rose pointed down into another open compartment, where a cat's cradle of jury-rigged wires and thingamabobs was crammed into one corner like an afterthought, and fed out through the wall.

 

"Ah." The Doctor would rather be shagging Rose at that moment than explain about the Time Lords' predilection for abducting him and the TARDIS, dumping them back on Gallifrey or in the middle of some other level of hell to do their dirty work, and forgetting to make sure he lived through it. But he grinned his way through it.

 

"That's just the auto navigation prime interphase, locked on my genetic imprint and the essence of the TARDIS. It's, like, my personal emergency escape from Jackie Tyler failsafe: gets me a quick getaway in case your mum comes after you to drag you home, or comes after me for something she thinks I need slapping over."

 

Rose gave him another predatory look and he wanted so badly to wipe it off her face with his lips and tongue, or maybe feed it with a taste of something else she seemed to like. "Like for what you're thinking now, Rose Tyler! It's faster than programming co-ordinates; since it's keyed to my code, you can't get in to disable it and make me stay through New Year's to sober her up; and if I'm not able, I mean, say your mum got in a good one and I'm kinda—"

 

"Bawling like a baby?"

 

He ignored that. "This activates a circuit that tells the TARDIS to bounce back to my previous, Jackie Tylerless, and therefore safe location. Knowing what I know now, woman, I wager it could be a life-saver some day." Now he was the one with the predatory grin.

 

"So if you accidentally land the TARDIS in the middle of a super-nova, say, or a volcano, this will get you out of your mess?"

 

"Oi!"

 

"Doctor, how often have you had to use it already?"

 

"Don't remember, exactly," he answered gruffly.

 

Rose let it go. Apparently it was more important to nuzzle into his arms and suck on his Adam's apple. When she'd finished, he closed the panels, reset some technical stuff, and checked some readings. He put his tools away and smiled. "Do you feel like trying out the new Christmas button, Rose Tyler? We'll get you a pretty new outfit then I'll take you dancing."

 

"Do I need an outfit for that, Doctor?"

 

Cupping Rose's bum, the Doctor pulled her up against him. One hand came up to tangle in her hair, holding her in position to be emphatically snogged. He laid her back onto the control panel and began to kiss his way down her throat, taking time only to slide her top and bra up out of the way. When he reached Rose's breast, he sucked her nipple into his mouth. His hand slid under her buttock and thigh, pushing her leg up to wrap around his hip, and he ground into her. He was hot and hard for her already, and Rose told him she'd found the real Christmas button. He laughed such a dirty laugh he had Rose wondering if she would last long enough to get their clothes off.

 

 

 

 

**~~~**

Jackie floored the gas pedal again and sat on it, and this time she didn't take _no_ for an answer. Finally the truck did its thing, the hatch that Rose was trying to get open was wrenched off and went airborne, and Rose was looking down at the hardwired interface to the Doctor's failsafe bounce-back circuit. She was so relieved and ecstatic that she could have kissed her mum, Mickey, and the bloke who'd lent her the truck; but there was something she needed to do that couldn't wait.

 

Actually, time was inconsequential to the TARDIS; it was Rose that couldn't wait. She remembered what had happened in Van Statten's bunker and how the Doctor had flipped out. She knew he had sent her home from Satellite 5 because he'd given up. Rose knew she could take the TARDIS back to Satellite 5 and save him—if she could only figure out how to initiate the circuit. The interface was locked onto the Doctor's genetic signature… but his genetic material was all over her, wasn't it? Rose stroked the cat's cradle of wires and metal bits.

 

Another hatch opened… and Rose found herself looking into what the Doctor has said was the heart of the TARDIS. She opened herself, mind and heart and soul, to the sentient time ship and begged the TARDIS to understand her. Golden tendrils of something that could only be pure alien power grew out of the heart of the TARDIS and swept around her in a coldly intimate and altogether terrifying embrace.

 

Motes of gold, like fairy dust, spiralled up through the alien light. Rose welcomed them as they filled her head. They followed well-travelled pathways through her neurons and across the synapses, nudged new axons to grow and forged new connections. Engrams, muddy and alien, fixed onto her human brain's cognitive model of reality and distorted it into something that made different sense. But Rose's human mind also pushed outward into the alien mind, wandering, touching it, and changing it as well. Rose felt herself part of something… unfathomable. And yet her understanding was total.

 

A scientist might say that there was searching and seeking, that neurocognitive information was exchanged, architecture was modified and adapted to allow alien brains to interface, that the human and the TARDIS were finally able to communicate directly. A Time Lord desperately in need of a miracle would understand that Rose Tyler and the TARDIS formed a union that was primal and potent, impossible in theory and unique in the universe. They were the Bad Wolf, and they had to save their Doctor.

 

The doors closed, the engines started, the time rotor began to move, and the TARDIS faded off the Council Estate.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>   
> 


End file.
